The Truth Beneath the Rose
by Donna Aminta of the Black Rose
Summary: Imagine, for the briefest of moments, that all you thought you knew of the scandle of la Gargnier and its Phantom was nothing more than an illusion.  Now, let that illusion become reality.
1. Prologue

The Truth beneath the Rose

Disclaimer:

Nothing of this is mine, save for, what I hope, are my decent attempts at getting into Erik's head. By nothing, I do mean nothing, even the title belongs to Within Temptation, but I liked it so I thought to use it.

Author's note:

This lovely little piece started as an assignment I gave myself a few years ago. It wasn't until Christmas week last year that I finally managed to get somewhere with it, and with the help and encouragement of my lovely muses, it's finally turned into something I'm becoming very proud of.

Please, read, enjoy, review, critique, however, please don't flame. I'm really antsy to put myself out there, and flames may very well lead to weeping. As the old saying goes, if you have nothing nice to say, then say nothing at all. I do very much hope you all enjoy it.

Donna Aminta

Note from the lowly beta: This story is being rated as R/M for later (much later) chapters. It is being rated in advance for the sake of avoiding trouble in the future from forgetfulness. Do enjoy the story.

My dearest Readers,

In all my years, all the time I've roamed about this earth, sometimes suffering, sometimes knowing the bliss of living out my life, and sometimes simply wandering and watching, I have seen all the stories you mortals have put to paper, stage, and film concerning my existence and the scandals you think you know so well. The truth is, dear readers, you know nothing, and in fact, you may know even less than that.

You ask then why I have not spoken, and the truth is, my fear, my pride, and my need to protect will not allow me. The centuries have at last grown long though, and the ink in my quill slowly dries. Thus, before the last of my ink runs out, I will allow this final work to fall from my pin.

Take heed of what you see in these pages, as they are the only truth of the scandal that will ever exist. I am sorry if this shatters the lovely little illusion you have created, but in the end, all illusions must be so.

I remain, readers mine, your obedient servant,

O.G.


	2. Chapter 1

I.

The delicate white silk of her nightgown left so little to the imagination, and I found myself wanting in ways that I had not since my time in Persia. Alas, I would never touch her, it would be nigh on a miracle if she ever even became aware that I was watching her, but wasn't that what I had wanted? I found myself beginning to wonder.

Who was she, this sleeping angel who had captivated me in just a few short weeks? I must confess, I knew very little about her. Antoinette Giry had told me what she could, in spite of the misgivings she had about it, and with a significant amount of persuasion, she had agreed to tell me as she learned more. I had decided long ago that the information obtained from the ballet mistress was far more preferable to that once obtained from the Persian daroga who appointed himself my keeper. Nadir Kahn's information always came with a price, far too many questions.

Apparently, the girl's name was Christine Daae. Her father had died recently leaving her orphaned. When news of this had reached the directors of the conservatoire, they contacted the management of the Gargnier asking if the girl might be given a place in the dormitories. Of course, Antoinette's gentle spirit was all to willing to oblige.

Her late father had been a traveling musician, a violinist from what I had been told. I snarled a little at the thought. Traveling musician indeed, what talent could he truly have possessed if all he could do is go from town to town playing at small fairs?

She began to stir, a slight moan of what sounded like pain escaping her lips. This was not something I had seen from her in the time I had been watching her, and I was intrigued. It was then that the sound reached my ears; the child was speaking, quite clearly and coherently, in her sleep. I could not help myself, though every part of my body told me better, I had to listen.

"Oh papa, you promised. You promised you'd send me the angel, and he still hasn't come. Things are so hard here papa, and when I try to sing, all I can do is weep. Please papa, please send him so that I can sing again."

Mon Deu, I nearly exclaimed allowed. What had this pour child been through? The better question, why did I care? Humanity was never something that had interested me, and pity was an emotion that I found utterly disgusting. Something about this pour child's plea broke the ice that had concealed a part of me for many years, and it was then that I decided—I would be her angel, whatever that meant.

I projected my voice into the darkness of her dressing room, letting it wrap around her body like a cloak.

"Christine child,"

She started, and a mixture of emotions passed so quickly across her face that I could not be certain exactly what she felt.

"A- angel…?"

She was making this far too easy. "Oui Christine, I am here. Sleep now, I will be with you."

"Yes Angel," She replied seeming dazed.

That was when I made my first mistake, I began to sing. I sang for the child with all I had, with all the fear, all the anger, everything I had felt for the past ten years beneath the opera. I poured it all into one gentle heart wrenching lullaby, and though she would never know it, we cried together that night.


	3. Chapter 2

II.

It was nearly three in the morning when I was able to pull myself away from the child and return to my home beneath the opera. I paced restlessly for hours, unable to compose, unable to write, for all purposes, unable to think at all. What had I done? I had directly involved myself with the world above, and now I could not escape it. Well, I suppose I could have, I simply could have refused to see the child again, to help her at all, but I could not. For better or worse, I had bound the girl to me when I sang for her. I had shown her a part of my soul, and now I had no choice but to help her.

The way she had spoken of the angel she sought stirred the recollection of an old folk story I had once heard, and I moved silently through my library seeking the book. Finding the old leather volume, I settled myself into an arm chair and began to read.

It was just as I remembered, and I was going to have quite the challenge ahead of me. I inwardly scolded myself; I was The Angel of Death, the Phantom of the Opera, why the hell was I nervous about teaching a foolish child to sing? For the same reason I watched her, and for the same reason I let myself sing for her. I was falling… hard. I had already seen the woman she would become and that woman had already begun to captivate me. Little did I know just how strong that captivation would grow.

Having acquired the necessary information, I moved back to my writing desk knowing that there were plans to be made.

First, there was the matter of how and where I would teach the girl. It simply would not bode well for me to approach her, especially given the illusion I had created for her, and I certainly would never bring her down here. This was not a fitting place for a child. It was then that I decided, I would simply do as I had done while watching her and stand behind the mirror as we worked. That lead to another problem, how, in God's name, was I to accompany her. I had no sense of her at all, and as far as I knew, I'd need an instrument to teach her to match the pitch of the notes, let alone for accompaniment. The violin would simply have to do. It was not ideal for singers, but I was a resourceful man, I would simply make it work.


	4. Chapter 3

III.

When I came to consciousness again, it was with a great amount of stiffness and soreness in my body. Damn it all, of all the times for my wretched body to choose to sleep, it would have to be while planning.

Standing, I stretched from the curse mortals know as sleep, gathered the few things I would require and prepared to make my way to my young pupil's chambers.

I must have asked myself nearly a million times on the way up that first day why the hell I was doing this, but each time, my mind gave me the same answer. At the time, I had no idea, and I would not for many long months afterward. Still, I had made a promise to the child, and I was not about to be the one to brake it.

When I reached the mirror and peered through it, all was just as I had hoped. She was just beginning to stir, which would allow me to create the illusion of never having left her in the night.

"Good morning Miss Daaé," I purred smoothly into the half light of her chamber.

She started again, this time sitting fully upright. God, the way the light played upon her hair… What was I thinking? She was only a child. And this time, each of the emotions that played across her face at the sound of my voice were perfectly clear… fear, recognition, ecstasy, and several other unnamable ones.

"A- Angel. You really are here? I thought… I thought I had only dreamed it."

"Yes child, I am here. Your father sent me to you just as he promised his Little Lotte," I borrowed the name from the tale assuming that it had always been a pet name if she had valued the story this much. "He would."

She jumped from the bed, an ecstatic smile gracing her lovely features and looked about the room as though she meant to find me skulking about in a corner. Not this time little one, I mused. She continued looking, and finally satisfied that she was not going to find me, she settled into a chair at her dressing table.

"Whatever is the matter child," I asked as I tried to hide my amusement at this strange occurrence.

"I…" She bowed her head trying to conceal the blush that was coloring her cheeks, "I wanted to be sure that you weren't trying to trick me,"

Clever girl indeed, I mused, but trick you I already have. Perhaps you seek to find a mere mortal man who preys upon your innocence skulking about in corners, but I, "The Lover of trap doors", you shall never find.

"Never Christine, your angel will never deceive you." I allowed my voice to caress her as I spoke.

"A- Angel?"

"Yes my dear girl?"

She looked as though she might cry with her fear of asking me whatever it was that was on her mind.

"Come now child, you must never fear to ask questions of your angel," I cooed.

"Is it true? Will you really teach me to sing, help me find my voice again?"

I watched her, the way her very emotions seemed to hang in the balance at my answer. She was so naïve, so trusting, and she had willingly given herself into the hands of the most dangerous man she had ever known.

"Oui Christine, I shall teach you, but you must be a diligent student, and you must never question your angel's methods. Is that understood?"

She nodded, the gravity of the situation finally seeming to occur to her.

"Now my dear, come, give yourself a bit of time to prepare and then you shall sing for me. I shall know your voice."

"Oui angel."

She stood from the chair moving to the mirror. She was so close now. Every little detail of her within a hand's reach, but I knew it would never be mine to touch. Again with this strange train of thought, what was coming over me? I had never before allowed myself to be so easily distracted, and if I allowed it to continue, it was going to cost me greatly.

She moved with ease through several of the common vocalizations, and it occurred to me just how pure and lovely her voice was. However, I would not allow myself to even begin to find her worth teaching until I had truly heard her sing.

"What shall I sing angel?" she asked timidly.

"Whatever you wish my dear."

Looking back now, I wish I had prepared myself more for what was coming, but how was I to know that that single voice, that gift of the gods, would be my undoing? Of course, as all fine things in the beginning stages often are, it was flawed. Her emotion, her soul seemed to have died with the very man who I claimed had sent me to her, but its purity, its delicate nature was like none I had ever heard in all my years.

My rigid posture changed. I found myself leaning upon the frame of the mirror completely entranced by the sound and sight of her. I was lost, utterly lost, and I knew it. However, it would be months before I even considered allowing myself to admit it.

"A- Angel, where are you?"

The girl had obviously addressed me several times, but I had been so trapped in my own musings that I had failed to hear her.

"Shhhh, Christine, I am here. It is all right." As it had that first night, my voice wrapped around her, enveloping her in the feeling of warmth and safety I wished for her to know.

"How, how was it," She asked, frightened of my response.

My voice was directly in her right ear when I spoke next, giving praises meant only for her to hear. "Brava Christine! Brava. Yes, you still must learn much, but you possess a beautiful instrument with which to begin."

My voice surrounded her once more. "Now child, our lessons will be here every day at this time. I expect that you shall always be ready and awaiting me. Is that clear?"

"Oui Angel," She replied, that same ecstatic smile gracing her features.

"Excellent. Now my dear, you must sleep. You have done very well, and surely you are exhausted. However, I do expect that our lessons shall not be the cause of your missing rehearsals in a few short hours."

She lay down with a contented sigh, and before I had even turned down the path to return home, I could hear the slowed breathing of sleep.


	5. Chapter 4

IV.

The lessons which had been my bliss, my escape from the wretched loneliness that had been my constant companion, continued unaffected for nearly two months. As they did, Christine's voice only seemed to grow more and more lovely, and my thoughts to grow more and more centered on only her.

One night, in early February, however, things began to change. As I sat composing, my senses suddenly flickered to a disturbance on the opposite shore of the lake. Surely the traps will simply take care of it, I mused with a dark chuckle, but I was sadly mistakened.

"Erik Dessler," A stern voice called out of the darkness.

I stood, picking up my cloak as I stepped out to fetch the boat. Whatever it was that Antoinette wanted, she certainly was not very pleased with me, and it seemed that I had no choice but to face her wrath.

"A moment Madame," I replied, my voice now right beside her.

I polled the boat across the lake, tying it off when I reached the shore. Glowering down at the older woman, I waited for her to speak. 'This had best be good to have interrupted my composing,' I growled half to myself and half allowed.

"What is it now Madame?" I snapped impatiently.

"Tell me Erik," she started as though speaking to a child, "What is your involvement with Christine Daae?"

Damn it! I had told the girl she was never to speak of me, and she had gone and betrayed me. She would surely pay for this.

"What are you talking about Madame?" I replied coolly.

The glare she sent me next would have frozen the blood of even the most seasoned dancer, but I was determined not to let this woman see my plans.

"Truly Madame, I know not of what you speak," I soothed.

"Erik, enough is enough. I heard her today. She was speaking with the new patron, they are apparently childhood friends of a sort, and she spoke of being visited by some sort of Angel of Music. Her story could be linked with none other but you."

"Do you not believe in angels Madame?" I quipped.

"I gave up believing in things I could not see a long time ago Erik. You know this. Now, what do you want with the girl?"

What could it heard I thought? My intentions were pure, and Antoinette had always kept my secrets in the past. Surely she would understand.

"To teach her, to train her voice so that she can reach her full potential."

"Is that all Erik?" she asked knowingly.

"What else would there be. Surely you do not think I intend to make her mine." I growled, my anger beginning to surface.

"That is exactly what I think you intend to do. No man goes about tricking an innocent girl unless he has dishonorable intentions."

Pacing the shore, I looked back at her with utter fury shining in my eyes.

"Have you forgotten Madame, I am no man?"

"Cease your brooding Erik. I know very well what you think yourself to be," She answered, her coldness mirroring my own. "But you must stay away from her. She will brake under your hands, and the patron seems to take an increased interest in her. We cannot afford to lose him over her."

"You know very well that we can," I snarled, trying not to strike out at the woman. "Was that all you wanted you wretched woman?"

She stalked me then, giving me no choice but to face her, and glaring hard into the one eye that was not covered by my mask she spoke again.

"There is one more thing…"

"Then speak!"

"What have you done to Carlotta?"

"Calming slightly as things had now returned to the goings on of my precious theater, I leaned casually against the wall of the passage where we stood.

"Sadly, whatever is wrong with the insolent toad, I did not do it this time. What has happened?"

"She was not in rehearsals today," Antoinette explained, still eyeing me as though she thought I'd had something to do with that fact.

Truly though, I could not blame her. It was well known n the theater how the Phantom felt about the supposed Prima Donna. In other words, I hated the woman.

"And…?" I pressed Antoinette.

"And when the managers sent someone after her, it became quite apparent that she could neither speak nor sing. Curse you Erik! We open in two days, and what are we going to do now?"

"As I said Madame," I began placatingly, "I had nothing to do with the toad's misfortune this time, but rest assured, Foust will open as planned. Now, away with you, I have work to do."

Turning my back, I waved my hand toward Antoinette in a dismissive gesture and was gone, not bothering to concern myself with taking the boat back for the time being.


	6. Chapter five

Disclaimer:

All Phantom characters are not mine, per the usual. However, my attempts at Erik's thought processes are.

Author's Note:

I must apologize to you all for my long absence in posting more chapters of this story. In my defense, I'd been put to task on other endeavors, but everything now being concluded, I'm going to have the next, hopefully, two chapters up for you. For those of you who are following my other story, I'm going to get that up as soon as possible as well. Also, be warned, I am not at all fond of Raoul and that's going to start becoming apparent in this chapter. So, if you have any fondness for him, I'm very very sorry. I hope you enjoy, and please review. Also, let me add, before I forget to do so, my editor has left on vacation, and I didn't want to make you all wait. So, if the spelling on this is a little rough, forgive me. I'll fix it when she gets back.

V.

Perhaps there was a god, and perhaps he had finally come to look favorably on, at least, one of my endeavors, I mused as I made my way to the manager's office through one of the many passages in the theater. God or no, I had gotten the chance I'd been waiting for and didn't have to cause it myself, bliss for only a brief moment.

The office was sumptuous indeed, but if one were ever to have asked, I would have decreed it too much so even for my own taste. True, I only tolerated the finer things of life, but even those possessed extremity, something that I detested.

"Do you not have an understudy," an unfamiliar and haughty voice questioned, and I immediately discerned this to be the patron Christine had been speaking to. I would have to give her a lecture on such.

"There is no understudy for La Carlotta," Andre, the more timid of the two replied, "And we have no time to train one."

Had they known to watch for or sense me, they would have felt the palpable amusement in the air as I thought of them trying to train my precious Christine and the dismal failure that would accompany it.

Now, however, was far from the time for my musings. Carefully, I opened the trap door in the office ceiling, dropped the two notes, and sat back to watch the little drama that was sure to follow.

Cackling to myself, I could not have been more self satisfied when the patron was the first one to see my notes. He rose, in that haughty and arrogant way of his, lifted them from the floor, and walked over to the desk.

"What are these?" He asked with some irritation.

Andre, in his usual frightened way, scurried back from them like a rat who'd met the rat catcher's torch, but Firmin, the more temperamental of the two, would not be so easily frightened.

"Notes, from the supposed phantom," he growled in anger. "We have never received two at once, so it would be my assumption that one of them is yours Monsieur le vis-compt."

Perhaps the man's intelligence was beginning to grow after all, but I would be a fool to think this meant my life would be made less difficult. For six months now, I had been trying to teach these two that they had only to acquiesce to my demands and their lives would be much calmer, however, at least the one seemed to take great pleasure in disobeying me. To a point, I would tolerate this behavior, but if they refused me this morning, I had already determined to make their existences hell on earth.

The first of the notes was opened, by the patron's quick hand, and I relaxed again prepared for its reading and the subsequent reaction.

"My dear maiseurs," He began in a flat and disbelieving tone. Deciding I would have none of this, I allowed my voice to float through the trap door, surrounding them and seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere.

"It has come to my attention that your pitiful attempt at a primadonna has fallen upon a rather unfortunate illness. Rest assured, however, that I will not allow my theater to fall to ruin. Therefore, Miss Christine Daae will be prepared for an audition before you this evening and will be singing the lead role.

I warn you, I am aware of her skill, and if you reject the obvious gift that has been placed into your hands, you will pay a great price.

I remain, gentlemen, your obedient servant,

O.G."

"She is nothing more than a simple chorus girl!" Firmin growled insolently.

"C'est vrai," Andre agreed, "But you know as well as I that we are going to have to find an understudy. We should at least hear the girl, if she is no good, we will find another. The way I see things, we have no other option."

"There is always another option," Firmin retorted in disgust, "We will simply ignore his note and find someone ourselves."

I would have absolutely none of this. The bastard of a man was taking his disobedience much too far, and he was going to learn that the phantom would not be trifled with.

The gas lights in the office flickered dark, and the door, they found was mysteriously locked. I know, you as so many readers have, want desperately to know how I accomplished such trickeries as this. There are two things one must remember, Erik's secrets are Erik's secrets, and a well trained magician or illusionist never gives away all that which he knows.

My voice once again surrounded them, but no longer did it contain the patient firmness of the Maestro's instructions. This time, I was furious, and I would accept no argument.

"You will do as you are told, or there will be no performance. Enough is enough."

Andre let out a small cry, the sound of my voice having sent him into a streak of cold fear, but it was the eyes of the patron that caught my attention.

I had paid him no mind until that moment, concerned with the imbecilic behavior of my management, but his eyes flicked across my note with an animalistic hunger, which did not at all please me. I noticed this hunger become even more intense when his eyes continuously found three words, Miss Christine Daae. He was looking at my Christine's name as though she was some sort of possession, and I would stand for no such vulgarity. It was time that he see his own note.

The gas once again sputtered to life, blinding my captives for a lovely moment, but I would not yet unbolt the door. The young nobleman played to my desire beautifully, as he picked up his own missive, opened it with the same practiced ease, and began to read.

"Monsieur le patron,

It has reached my notice that you have taken an unhealthy interest in something that clearly is not yours to impose upon, and my theater is no place for such vulgarities as those of your nature so often entertain.

Therefore, you will cease your attempts to interfere with the innocence of Miss Daae, lest a very unfortunate accident befall you.

I remain, monsieur, your obedient servant,

O.G."

"This is an outrage!" he growled as his facade of gentle nobility crumbled beneath him. "Is this your idea of some sort of cruel joke?" he roared as he glowered at the managers.

"Non monsieur, non." they both soothed in chorus. "We would never do such a thing. We are far too grateful for all you have done for this theater."

I had heard enough. I had no interest in lurking about while these men attempted to soothe the fears of a stupid boy. My Christine awaited her lesson, and though she did not yet know it, a lecture of her own.


	7. Chapter six

Disclaimer:

Nothing belongs to me but Erik's thought processes, as per usual.

Author's Note:

This is me being extremely proud of myself as I've managed to get two chapters out tonight, and I think I'm still even going to have the energy to update my other story as well. I'm very happy with my muses right now. A few quick things:

First of all, there's a lot of French in this chapter, mostly in the way of terms of endearment. If anybody wants the meanings, please feel free to PM me or put it in your review, and I'll be more than happy to share. Most of them coming from things my own Ange has called me over the years.

Second thing, a little challenge for all of you. Hidden in the prologue and in a couple other places throughout, is a series of hints about the sort of creature Erik is. In other words, he's not just a simple mortal man. I'd very much like to see if any of you can figure it out. If you're curious, PM me your answers and how you found it, and I'll let you know if you're right. Best of luck in the figuring out.

Third, Just a reminder that my editor's on vacation, so don't kill me too much if the spelling is horrid, please and thank you.

Read review and enjoy.

VI

It was slightly later than usual when I arrived at the dressing room mirror, but the need to make my point was great. Christine paced the floor desperately, and the tear stains on her cheeks showed that she had been crying. How terribly I regretted that I would have to be cold to her, but she had betrayed me, something that I accepted from no one.

"You have betrayed your Angel's confidence Miss Daae," I purred dangerously.

She started, falling to her knees before the mirror with a bowed head. The archetypal position of submission, I mused, but I refused to allow myself to think about this at the moment. However, I did have every intension of thinking about it.

"Please Angel, I do not understand," she begged.

"You have spoken of me to the patron Christine, and I made it quite clear to you that you must never speak of our lessons."

"Raoul is an old friend Angel. He means nothing more to me than that."

I looked down into the beautiful blue orbs of her eyes and knew that she had absolutely no intension of deceiving me. That is all she thought the patron to be, and she was incapable of seeing that hungry possessive look in his eyes.

"Come child, rise and seat yourself at your dressing table. There is something I would like to speak to you about."

She rose obediently, all be it timidly and sat gracefully down at the table. Her eyes never leaving the mirror.

"Christine, you are an innocent girl, a good girl, and your Angel is very proud of you for this."

She smiled brightly, a smile that I would come to do anything to see fall over her lovely features.

"Merci Ange," she replied quietly and that smile was colored by the lightest of blushes.

Gods above she was so beautiful! Maybe Antoinette was right. Maybe I did plan to make her mine, but I would not do so unless she would have me.

"You are so innocent and so good," I continued, "That you do not understand the ways of men. Men like the patron Christine, they only seek to take the innocence and virtue of a young girl like you. They also seek to distract singers like yourself from their studies."

She lowered her head again, and I knew she attempted to hide her upset and disbelief from me.

"Christine, has your Angel ever deceived you?" I asked her tenderly.

"Non Ange, you have only been good to me, and made me better."

"Then trust me now ma voix, you must not see the patron again. Do you understand?"

"Oui Ange," she replied demurely.

"Bon fille, maitenant, let us begin."

Our lesson passed in its usual contented bliss. She sang like the angel she was, and I corrected the few brief things that required my attention. Her poise, her expressivity had come so far in the short months she had been under my hands, and as I watched her, I knew it was time. She would know her triumph in Faust, and soon after, she would know the true nature of her angel.

"Ta voix est tres belle ma Christinette," I praised in delight.

She blushed scarlet, and unable to speak, she lowered her head in thank you for my words.

"It is time, my darling. You are ready."

"Ready Angel," she questioned, "For what?"

"For your triumph ma chere fille. The primadonna has fallen ill, and an understudy will be needed. You have studied this role for months, and you know it better than anyone I have ever trained. You will do beautifully."

"But Ange…"

"Non ma voix, you need only trust me. All else will be fine. Rest now, I will return to you to help you prepare in a few hours."


	8. Chapter seven

Disclaimer:

Phantom characters are not mine.

Author's note:

Just as a warning, this is when I'm going to start twisting the events a bit to the way I want them. Also, don't forget, I have no editor, so please take it easy on me. There are also more hints about Erik's state in this chapter, so have fun. Oh yeah, and don't forget to review.

VII

An Interlude

It appears my husband and Maestro, in the truest sense of the word, has wandered away from the folio of his papers, leaving them open in plain sight. Perhaps the paranoia of the former assassin has grown soft in the nearly two centuries we have wandered, but perhaps he hopes that I too shall contribute. I prayed he would never ask me to write, as parts of those years are still players in my darkest nightmares, but truly, he has not asked. I write now of my own will.

Hmmm, the consistency of this ink seems strange, thicker than any ink I have ever seen. Perhaps something exotic left from his travels? I shall have to ask him.

I laugh inwardly as I write this, because I see the place he has chosen to leave these papers to me, and I know very well why he has done it.

You see, though so many of your tales tell you differently, dear readers, my Maestro is a good and gentle man who has always strived to protect my innocence and naivety. That is, until the day he discovered I did not quite have as much as he once thought.

It is best we first consider the nature of angel's. They are not often prone to jealousy, you may remember, nor are they often prone to fall in love with those to whom they come. My Maestro had done both in a very short period of time, and I was all too aware of it.

The tone with which he spoke of the bastard Raoul during that last lesson before things changed, made it perfectly clear to me that he was jealous. Not only that he was jealous but that he hated the nobleman. I wish now that I too could have done so, but I was blinded by the delusions of what had once been. Too blinded to see the lust, the hunger in his eyes when he looked at me, but I digress…

This angel's jealousy had stirred something strange within me, a sort of fluttering feeling in the pit of my stomach, and it bewildered me. What was it, and where was it coming from?

I realized later that it was the feeling of love, of excitement that was awakening in my core. I wanted this angel to deceive me, to truly be nothing more than a mortal man. I suppose, to a degree, my wish came true, though my Erik is certainly no mortal.

And then, oh and then, there was that tone when he was pleased with me. More specifically, there were those two words, 'bon fille'. I am still not completely certain I can explain what they did and still do to me only that, they awakened some secret part of me that would do anything to please this creature, angel, man, or whatever else he may have been.

Alas, I fear my interlude must end, at least, for now. My Maestro returns from his errand, and he will soon return once more to his papers.

Another Author's Note:

*Cackles darkly.* I bet you didn't expect that one, did you? Truth be told, neither did I. I was fully expecting the entire story to be in Erik's voice, but one can't argue with the muses. Feel free to tell me what you thought of this and whether or not you thought it worked. So long as no one wants to kill me for it, there will be a few more of these throughout.


	9. Chapter eight

Disclaimer:

Phantom characters aren't mine, though, as I've said in another story, I'd have absolutely no problem with being Erik's.

Author's Note:

This is probably something I should have added to the last chapter's note, but I honestly forgot about it, so please don't kill me. For those of you who are taking my challenge and trying to figure out what Erik is, Christine drops a hint in the past chapter that might need a bit of clarification. It's necessary that the reader imagine the story written entirely in red ink, which should put a whole new twist on Christine's musings about how thick it is.

Another thing, for any of you who are interested, I've posted another story, a LND fic that you might find intriguing. It's called Beauty Underneath and is a very different view of the song, though not a songfic. If you read it, let me know your thoughts, because the friend I dedicated it to and I are thinking to make it more than just a one shot, and I'd like to get some feedback on it.

I think that covers everything for now, so read, review, and enjoy.

Aminta

VIII

I see that my mate has taken to my papers for the briefest of moments, and I must say that I am glad of it. You se readers mine, Phantom though I may be, there are parts of her mind that still remain a mystery, even to me. Thus, I leave my papers in her sight, hoping that she, by her additions, shall give to you the fullness of our story.

As I mentioned, I had dwelt on that position into which she fell with the fit of my anger. I promised myself I would not think on it, at the time, but I was home now and left with nothing to do but think.

The first conclusion I reached was this, I was in love, utterly and completely, with the girl, which would surely mean my end. Love was an emotion that was foreign to me, at best, and at worst, unattainable. Even my mother had denied me love, refusing her young son even a single kiss. My second hope came in the form of Luciana, the daughter of an architect with whom I studied, but even she was hopeless, as she was hell bent on seeing my face, and it was that sight, in the end, that killed her. Therefore, love, from Christine, surely was no manner of option.

Of course, as I pondered this more, I realized that it was no option by my own doing. I had tricked her and made her believe I was an angel sent by her father to teach her. If I could not be honest with her, even about who I was, how would she believe that I could be honest with her about anything else?

Ever the hopeless romantic though, I wondered if maybe, just maybe there would be a part of her that didn't want my tricks any longer. Could she possibly know what I was up to, know that I wanted her, and could she possibly want me in return? She had been a bit strange today in her lesson, not glowing with my praise as she normally did, but instead, blushing like a school girl in the beginnings of her first romance.

Stop your diluted fantasies Erik, I growled to myself as I flung the mask from my face and forced myself to look into the mirror at the grotesque image before me. She does not want you, and she never will. Still though, I had to try and resolved that after the opening of Faust, I would bring her to my home and let her make that decision for herself.

Then, there was the second thought, the one I had even less of a desire to face. I was more than simply in love with her, I wanted to make her mine.

I suppose, my beloved audience, I should offer you a bit of explanation as to what I mean by this particular turn of phrase and allow you to choose for yourselves whether you are brave enough to continue the reading of this manuscript having your newest knowledge.

What I meant was this, I wanted her to serve me, not beside me as husband and wife but to remain always a delicate step behind. I wanted her to belong to me, body, mind, heart, soul, and voice, and I wanted to see my mark about that graceful neck. However, if love was not an option, this was even less so. This was the stuff of my darkest dreams, and it was fated to remain so.

Looking up and the clock suddenly, I realized how much time I had let pass in the throws of my musings. Christine would have fallen to sleep now, overwhelmed finally with the tiredness that always came after her lessons, and I had much to do to see that she had all she needed for this evening.

Carefully, almost reverently I lifted the things I had purchased for her into my arms and begun the walk through my labyrinth that would lead me to her dressing room.

It was just as I thought, she lay, sleeping peacefully, and I found myself unable to move for a moment, simply watching my angel in all her innocence.

"A… Angel?" She questioned sleepily, and I started not at all expecting this.

""Oui Christine?" I asked, trying to keep my emotions under control. "Oui je suis eci, sleep now."

"M… May I see you," she asked timidly.

"It is not time yet, ma voix," I explained patiently, "But soon, soon you shall see your angel, but close your eyes and sleep, and you shall feel me."

"Oui Ange."

She fell immediately back to sleep, and as I stepped through the mirror to place my gifts on her dressing table, I placed the most tender of kisses upon her forehead and was gone.


	10. Chapter nine

Disclaimer:

All Phantom characters are not mine, though, as I've said in other stories, I'd have absolutely no problem being owned by Erik.

Author's Note:

This chapter took a very different turn than I expected it to, but I can't deny the muses their wishes. So, I hope nobody wants to kill me for the fact that the usual theatricality of this scene just doesn't exist here. Please please, review and let me know what you think, because I confess, the way this one went made me just a bit nervous.

IX

The audition came and went, and as was to be expected, my dearest stunned her audience leaving no question that the lead role would be hers. So too passed her opening night, the night we both will forever say was her first and greatest triumph, and now here I stood, with all the nervousness of a school boy waiting behind her mirror for the chance I had been dreaming about for what seemed as an age—the chance to reveal my true self to her.

The dressing room door opened suddenly, and I stood rigid, waiting for the sight of her slender form to cross its threshold. As soon as she did, I realized one very frustrating detail, she was not alone. There he stood, the vis-count Raoul de Chagny, leading her into the chamber as though she belonged to him.

"Raoul, please," She begged, "I have no desire to go to dinner with you or the management tonight. I am exhausted, and I will require rest."

My little diva was playing right into my hands, and I could not have been happier. She knew I waited, if for nothing more than to congratulate her, and she clearly had no interest in the nobleman's company. I reconciled myself to allowing her the luxury of dealing with his advances herself until the point they became out of hand and leaned casually against the inner mirror frame to wait.

"Now Lotte," he chided as though speaking to a child, "You cannot deny so many people the chance to congratulate you. You truly sang like an angel tonight."

At the use of the word angel, she flinched slightly, and I became keenly aware of the way her dark eyes flicked to my hiding place.

"Easy chere, easy." I purred right into her ear, "Your angel is not angry with you. Agree to go with him and tell him that you must change, and I will take care of the rest. Do nothing to show you have heard me."

"Very well Raoul," she growled tiredly—a sound which forced me to restrain my own growl of desire for her, "I will go with you this once, but I must change first."

He took both of her hands in excited glee, and a growl of a very different sort threatened to betray my hiding place.

"I knew you would see reason Lotte," he said smiling at her approvingly.

"It is not reason Raoul, it is simply to quiet you. Now go, and I will meet you in the foyer in an hour."

Giving her a somewhat dejected look, he left the dressing room closing the door softly behind him. I watched her without a word as she glided to that same door, turned the key in the lock, and came back to kneel before the mirror.

"You are no angel?" she asked me quietly, but her question bore the nature of someone who already knew the answer.

"What is it that makes you say so ma voix?" I asked gently.

I will not deny, in these pages, that her question had caught me off my guard, but at the time, I refused to let her know it. It was very possible that she was only questioning, only doubting, and if that were the case, I would not allow her to discover my truth until I wished it discovered.

"You told me to lie to him," she stated matter of factly, "And you are jealous. These are not ways angels behave."

I had every intension of telling her something, anything to get her away from this way of thinking, but in that moment, I realized there was nothing I could say. Our little game was over, and if she truly wished to remain with me or not, this was the moment of truth.

I opened the mirror door slowly, regally, and stepped in front of her letting my dark cloak pool around me. She gasped a little, and I fought hard not to flinch away as I had so often done with that reaction.

"Non Christine, je ne suis pas un ange, je m'appel Erik."

"Erik…" she let my name roll about her tongue, her voice barely a whisper, and I knew in that moment I was lost. "I knew," she said quietly, "Somehow I knew, or, at least, I hoped."

"You hoped," I asked her nearly breathless.

"Night after night," she began, "I dreamt of you, of what it would feel like to rest in your arms after our lessons, of the peace that your voice could bring me as I did, but you were an angel who could never take human form, thus, my dreams were only that… dreams. Now, here you stand, telling me that you are no angel but mortal man and that my dreams may not be dreams any longer. Still though, I have questions, and I must meet Raoul soon or risk him coming here. What am I to do Maestro?" she asked desperately.

The laugh that had risen up in my throat at the word mortal died very quickly when I realized, once again, the precarious nature of her situation and my own. Exactly what I needed, for the management, as a result of the lust of a stupid boy, to find out that the imfamous Opera ghost was nothing more than a man, besotted with their new leading soprano.

"It will seem like a foolish question Christine, but can you trust me, at least, for now?" I asked her gravely.

"What do you mean?" she asked trembling slightly in her fear.

"If you can trust me, there is a place I can take you where you may sleep—I shall not touch you while you do—and we can discuss things more in the morning."

Her fear was overtaking her, that much would have been certain to anyone, but she nodded weakly.

"The way is long," I began slowly, "And the dangers immense. If you will allow me, I will carry you down."

"Down?" she asked, her delicate eyebrows raised with the question.

"Beneath the theater," I answered softly, doing my best not to frighten her more, "To my home."

She wanted to say more, to ask me a thousand questions, but she did not. She simply nodded, allowing me to lift her into my arms and carry her silently through the mirror.

As I look back now on that first journey, I realize how little I remember. The first half passed in silence, and I thought briefly that my little Christine may have fallen asleep in my arms, exhausted from her performance.

"So cold… so dark," she whimpered meekly.

"Shhhh chere, you will be warm soon enough," I promised her as I removed my cloak and wrapped her tightly in it.

The rest of the way truly did pass in silence then, though a silence occasionally broken as I quietly sang for her, reminding her of her warmth and safety, and it was then that I realized she had fallen to sleep.

I thought perhaps the movement of the boat crossing the lake would have woken her, but still, she never moved.

"Sleep my darling," I cooed softly as I finally lay her down in the bed I had prepared for her, "I will guard your dreams."


	11. Chapter 10

Disclaimer:

All Phantom characters are not mine. However, after Carimlu's stunning performance at the Royal Albert Hall, unfortunately I did not see it live, I can confirm, with utter and complete certainty that I would have absolutely no problem with being owned by Erik.

Author's note:

My dear readers,

I must sincerely apologize, as I am well aware of just how long it has been since I have taken up this lovely bit of work. Unfortunately, this is a piece on which I am only able to work when my muses are with me, and, as has probably become rather obvious, that has not occurred in some time. Not to mention the fact that, well, life tends to like to try and get in the way. Cursed life!

However, as a result of the previously mentioned performance and the character study of Erik I have, yet again, under taken, I am finally able to write again. I thank you for your patience, and encourage you to strongly consider not killing me for taking so long, as, without me, this story will cease to exist.

I hope you enjoy, and don't forget to review,

Aminta

X

"Kyre eleison, Christi eleison,"

It was one of the few times I had actually deemed fit to ask mercy of God. After all, what need had I? I had renounced God far too long ago to even properly recollect, but if there was a time I needed that mercy, this was that moment. For surely I would taint that which he considered most pure with only a look, and a look did not even begin to touch what I truly wanted.

What had I done? Become an utter love sick fool, that was what. Yes, she had agreed to go with me of her own accord, but it was only because she was possessed of no other option at the time. Yes, she had claimed to love me, but she was a child. How could she know love, and if she did, how could she begin to fathom the intensity with which I loved her? This was madness!

I was mad, but not with the need to create, or the lust for blood that were my usual companions, this time my madness came from love and love alone. For one of the first times in my life, I knew fear because the emotion which spawned this madness was, until a few short weeks ago, completely foreign to me, and now, I had absolutely no inclination as to what to do with it.

"Dies iri, dies ila!"

Yes, perhaps that was a better description of my fate. For, as I watched the angel before me sleeping upon the floor cushions, the familiar voices of doubt once more began their endless chant in my mind, and I knew my day of wrath would, all the sooner, be upon me for what I had done.

"You are no more than a monster, an animal. How could she love you? How could she do anything but lothe you when you have deceived her like the wretch, the murderer, the disgusting creature you are?"

Several times through of the chants endless round it was, before I came to terms with the fact that pacing at the side of the floor cushions where my young protégée slept would do naught but madden me further. Music, however, music was and always had been the source of any soul I possessed. She had never failed to sate and satisfy me, like the unconditional lover she was.

Even now, I cannot say what it was that stirred my Christine from her sleep. For, so heavily was I wrapped in my cloak of music that I did not hear that most delicate of steps upon the floor. In fact, I heard, nor felt, nor sensed a single thing until her porcelain skinned fingers replaced the cold and unfeeling porcelain of my mask.

As I look back now upon the next few moments, I realize just how little I remember, but such is always common when the rages overtake me, as they still sometimes do. The howl that ripped from my throat as I pinned the delicate figure before me to the wall threatened to ensure that I would never sing another note, but little did I care. She had seen, and she would pay for the crime she had committed.

"Does it please you, mam'selle," I growled hoarsely, "This thing which you have seen? Is it all you hoped it would be?"

Here, we see the first of the places where your stories tell such dreadful tales. You see, my Christine did not scream, nor did she cry. Even then, she seemed to be possessed of some sense which told her what lay beneath the mask. As I howled and hissed with little care for where I struck and what hurtful things I said, tender fingers caressed my scars, waiting for me to have done.

After what must have been an hour or two of my shattering mirrors, toppling my viles of ink, and destroying anything else my hand could find at the time, several scores included, I suppose she must have tired of my childish ways. For, in what seemed only an instant, in my rage fogged perception of time, she was before me with her hand resting sharply upon my shoulder.

"Enough Erik!" she growled, "It is not your face which frightens me but this, this rage. Now, be still!"

The look upon my face must surely have been something utterly laughable, but so gentle was my Christine that she ne'er would have dreamed of making such a jesture. Slowly, I recovered myself, assessing the damage that had been done and mentally noting the things that must be replaced and put back to right. Reaching out my hand for my mask, I was once again stunned into shocked silence when she refused to return it.

"My mask, Miss daae,' I snapped bitterly, "And I shall trouble you no longer with this sight."

"Non Maestro," she explained softly, "I have seen worse, and how am I ever to know you if there are such buriers between us?"

I had imagined it, truly I must have. There was no reason for her to have said she had any wish to know me. I truly was mad, but, if it had come to that, I would suffer these dilusions in bliss… such beautiful dilusions. Avoiding the obvious rout of conversation, for did I truly wish to know how she had seen worse, I returned to the familiar safety of my anger.

"You have seen, mon ange," I purred dangerously, "You are mine!"

"I am no man's until I choose to be," she retorted, "Maitenant, until you can know reason again, you will return me to my dressing room. You may return to me when you are sufficiently over your fit of temper to speak to me properly.""

I could have kept her. In fact, every part of me screamed that I must do just that. Save for that single part, the part that gave way to utter love and devotion. She had asked to be returned, and return her I would.

The journey to the world above passed silently enough, but, at least, she had not flinched from my arm when I offered it to her. She had only sighed softly, and, dare I have hoped it, in pleasure and settled into step beside me.

Standing at the mirror, she reached out her small hand to me and finally returned my mask, but before I could replace it, she placed her lips tenderly against my right cheek, speaking three words whose whisper fluttered against my scars…

"Return to me."


	12. An Author's note

Author's note:

I've really felt bad about the last wait I put all of you through so I just wanted to leave you a quick note as far as updates to things. With Beltane coming up, I'm really spacy and have my mind turned to my ritual workings. So, though I do have the next chapter started, I'm not sure exactly when it's going to get finished. At the very latest, it'll be after Beltane, but at the earliest, in about two weeks. Thank you all, so much, for your patience with me, and, to those of you who cellibrate it, I wish you a most joyous Beltane.

Aminta


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